So what can I talk about now? Ugh, running out of ideas here. All I’m doing now is looking at this screen, listening to Skynard’s Ballard of Curtis Lowe and being stared at by a German Shepherd.
I’m dressed in Polartec pants and a ratty looking plaid shirt (I won’t get rid of it, I like it!). My hair is a wild mess and I.don’t.care. The bills are paid, the bank account is nicely stuffed and I have no real pressing issues to attend to today.
God, if were a millionaire, I’d be worse. There’s a scene near the end of There Will Be Blood where Daniel Day Lewis is lying, passed out in a hallway of his mansion, with a half eaten steak on a plate and a bottle of vodka by his head. Olympic style sloth! I might be able to one up him on that if I had that ridiculous freedom the super rich have, to be able to ignore even those most basic social norms like going out in public looking like you’ve been dipped in Crisco oil.
I once worked briefly at a hoity toity country club where I could witness the rich. The entrance fee was $40,000 and yearly dues about $10,000. Not only did you need that but being a WASP was a help. Membership was by invite ONLY. Being an eye-talin cathylick just won’t do.
There was a group of women members there, in their late 50’s, who spent the day drinking martinis and vogue-ing their way throughout the place. All of them dressed like the Queen Mother and probably didn’t shower in days. Their hair was unkempt and their skin had that oily sheen. What’s funny, that look was aped by the other older women who didn’t have access to that particular clique just yet.
The men? One I swore was a SS Waffen type. This guy was Aryan Poster Boy and when he found out I used to work in social services, he could barely hide his disgust. The other guys either were perfectly dressed or looked like the caddys.
You know, it’s probably good I don’t own 51% of Pfizer’s stock. I’d be so immoral and crooked it would take three lawyers to screw me into my clothing each day. That kind of freedom would allow me to do anything I wanted…and I’d probably do it. Then I’d get bored and try to find something even more outlandish to try out. I’d be an adrenalin junkie.
*****
I once dated a rich cougar way out of my range. To give you an idea of her assets, her parents owned a large oil delivery business and were kind enough to buy each of their three kids a house of their own.
I met her at a club in Providence one night and after the usual phone chat we made a date. She gave me the directions to her home in Scituate and when I pulled up I realized I was way out of my league. She met me at the door with a glass of white wine in her hand, dressed in Nieman Marcus and gave me the quick tour of her country estate home. Know what I was thinking as I saw all these assets tastefully displayed? I thought, “Oh god, she wants me to be her Kept Boy.” I was feeling like this date was going to suck real quick, real fast.
Well, that night turned into a summer and autumn. Things went better than I thought that first day when I saw her in her home.
She had that air of “protection” enveloping her. The protection that family money can bring. No matter how badly she behaved, not that she did, there was always Daddy to pluck her out of it. Well, when you do have that cocoon, what do you know of daily threats when you’re just middle class? You are going to be spoiled by that comfy lifestyle.
Ok, that’s it…I will work on this more or not.
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